Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson Book 2) (11 page)

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Tor knelt within the woods and touched the lighter footstep along the stream’s embankment belonging to Layla and the heavier print of Donnan MacDonald’s. He and Tavish had already followed the stream to the end of their Matheson land which overlooked the ocean and the Isle of Skye, but they hadn’t as yet found any further signs of either Layla or Donnan’s tracks reemerging along the entire route. Agitated, he rose to his feet. “She’s clearly used her skill to get away from me.”

“We’ll track her down. It’s impossible for anyone to fully hide from a bear.” Tavish bounded back across the stream in his black pants and tunic then motioned toward the east where the warrior encampment lay at the end of the inner channel of Loch Alsh. “At least we’ve only one more direction to search.”

“Keep a lookout for any trace of movement within the stones along the river base as well.”

“Will do.”

Nose to the air, Tor strode along the side of the stream searching for any lingering scent of his mate while his brother combed the other side. They tramped a good mile before they left the forest behind and followed the stream as it weaved across the rolling moors. It was as if his mate hadn’t passed in this direction either, except his gut told him she had. He scanned the horizon, from the craggy hills rising higher on their right to the inner channel of Loch Alsh sitting just beyond the moors to their left. She couldn’t hide from him forever. He’d never allow it. “Once I find her,” he said through gritted teeth to his brother, “it’ll be a hell of a long time before I ever allow her out of my sight again.”

Never had he felt so lost or so furious. If any harm had come to her because he’d misjudged the strength of her fierce nature and her desperate need to protect him, then he’d never survive it. She was his to care for, his to keep safe from any and all harm.

Marching on, he left the stream behind and gave his bear his head as he stormed across the rolling fields of heather swaying with an array of wildflowers. “We’ll work in a crisscross pattern and head toward the loch,” he called to Tavish. “We’ll be able to call on the aid of the warriors from the encampment if we don’t find her before we reach the camp.”

“Understood.” Tavish picked up his pace, searching the fields with determination, just as he did. They crossed paths as they weaved back and forth across the terrain then his brother lowered to his haunches in the thick grass next to some low brush. “Tor, I’ve found something.”

He jogged across and knelt next to his brother. Snagged within the scrub, a long strand of curly blond hair fluttered in the breeze. He plucked the length of hair free, brought it to his nose and dragged in his mate’s glorious, wild cherry scent. “At least we now know for certain she came through—”

“Tell me his name!” The thunderous roar echoed from up ahead along the shoreline.

“There they are.” Tavish jabbed a finger and Tor found the outline of two people on the beach before the glittering water, one towering menacingly over the other.

He sprinted across the moors, his heartbeat a raging mess. Over the sand dunes, he bounded then with a fierce battle cry and his head down, he rammed into Donnan MacDonald and sent them both skittering across the sand.

Layla screamed as Tor roared and crashed into Donnan. The two men went flying, sprayed sand as they rolled across the beach then pulled apart and heaved to their feet. Tor swung his sword from his side scabbard and Donnan whipped his claymore from the baldric across his back.

The two came together with a mighty crash of their great blades.

Steel sparked, the brutal force of their strike sending both of them lurching back a step under the jarring impact. “There is naught I like more than an eager opponent,” Donnan snarled.

“I’m beyond eager.” Tor thrust his sword high and blocked Donnan’s next swift blow.

“I take it you’re the man my betrothed is soul bound to?” Donnan’s eyes blazed with hatred, a fierce and fiery look that spoke of intended retribution.

“Aye, the name’s Tor Matheson.” Tor shoved against him. “Layla is my mate and only mine.” He struck hard and fast, landing several hard blows as he fought to push Donnan farther from her and toward the waves lapping into shore.

“You both have to cease this fighting.” She hurried forward but Tavish swept her up from behind and carried her backward to safety. “Let me go, Tavish.”

“This is Tor’s fight, not yours,” Tavish rasped in her ear as he set her down on her feet, gripped her arms from behind. “Let him deal with Donnan. Trust him. My brother won’t fail you.”

“I won’t have my kinsmen go to war against clan MacDonald because of me.” She thrashed against Tavish. “Tor, please, halt this madness.”

Donnan swung and Tor met the staggering blow, although it knocked him to his knees, his blade and Donnan’s crossing a mere inch from his nose. Tor’s arms shook as he gripped his great sword and heaved back to his feet.

“Keep Layla with you and out of this fight,” Tor yelled at Tavish.

“I’ll keep her safe.”

Tor cast her a look. “We’ll be talking, the moment this battle is done.”

“Just keep your eyes on the fight.”

“Aye, you should never lose sight of your opponent.” Donnan shot forward and landed a vicious blow on Tor’s left.

Tor shuddered under the impact and fought back. She wanted to use her skill to tear them both apart, but they moved so brutally fast she’d likely do more harm than good if she tried to separate them.

“Layla will be my wife, and afore this day is out. I’ll ensure it.” Donnan swung, each of his strikes slamming home with deadlier intent.

“Like hell she will.” Tor met each of Donnan’s blows, one after the other. Their weapons clashed, the heavy peal of steel on steel ringing fiercely in her ears. Over and over, they came at each other, Donnan landing several solid blows before Tor did the same with Donnan.

“You clearly favor your right side, Matheson.” Donnan twirled and attacked on Tor’s left, each hit stronger than the last.

“I favor no side.” Tor switched sword hands and fought on. Sweat beaded his brow as he gained back ground and pushed Donnan back. “What of you?”

“I favor a win, however that may be achieved, which means I will have your head. No one steals my betrothed away from me and lives to speak of it.” Donnan swung his claymore and Tor defended then struck himself. They were so evenly matched, in power, height, and skill, neither man prepared to relinquish any hold over the other.

A horn trumpeted from the direction of the encampment and two heavily armed warriors galloped down the beach toward them, their Matheson plaids flapping about their legs. Gerald rode at the head, one of their garrison’s captains and her father’s closest confidant.

“Gerald!” she yelled and waved. “Please, you have to stop this fight.”

Gerald bounded from his war horse and circled the battling men. “What’s the meaning of this, Tor?”

“Don’t come any closer.” Tor rocked on his heels and blocked Donnan’s next fierce strike then dropped low, rolled clear and came up behind him. He swung and Donnan barely caught the staggering blow. Donnan fell to his knees and Tor slid his sword right up against Donnan’s throat. “Concede to your defeat,” he barked. “Layla is my mate, the woman I intend to wed.”

“You’ll never wed her while she’s betrothed to me.” Donnan’s arms shook as he tried to keep Tor’s blade from slicing into him.

“I want your word, spoken right now before these witnesses, that you repudiate your betrothal.” Tor pushed his blade down firmer, right into Donnan’s skin. A drop of blood welled. “I will never allow you near my chosen one again. Do you hear me, MacDonald?”

Donnan glared, his chest rising and falling as he heaved in a breath. Tor needed to shove only a little harder and his blade would slice right through Donnan’s throat. With a venomous glare, Donnan snapped out, “I repudiate my betrothal.” He shot her a fierce look. “You are free to wed your warrior. If. You. Dare.”

Damn it. Now she’d gone and ensured their greatest ally had become their greatest enemy. She couldn’t have botched her talk up with Donnan more than she had. Aye, she’d set both clans against each other and she couldn’t see any possible way to make amends.

“Lower your weapon.” Tor’s blade scraped Donnan’s flesh and another drop of blood oozed out.

“I concede.” Donnan slowly lowered his blade then dropped it.

“Gerald.” Tor gritted his teeth as he grasped Donnan’s weapon and lobbed it to the man. “See our visitor off our land and ensure he never returns. I want you to report back to me once that has happened.”

“Of course.” Gerald gestured to the other Matheson warrior who’d rode with him from the encampment to dismount then offered the spare horse to Donnan who grumbled as he mounted the black steed.

Layla held her breath as Donnan shoved his knees into his horse’s flanks and galloped over the sand dunes and across the moors with Gerald riding at his side. She remained right where she stood until the two riders become naught more than a mere dot on the horizon.

Tor caught her arm, turned her to face him. “We’ll stay at the encampment until Gerald returns with word that Donnan and his men have sailed back to Skye. I don’t want you anywhere near the keep until I’m assured he’s gone.”

“I am so mad at you right now. You put your life on the line for mine and you shouldnae have.” Never had fear and fury clashed within her so fiercely. Father and her entire clan would soon know exactly what had happened and of how she’d destroyed their longstanding relationship with their allied clan. Tor hadn’t helped in making certain all had gone well either, his usually level head having flown right out the window from the moment he’d arrived and taken Donnan to the ground. So much for having a civil conversation about ending her betrothal with the man she’d been set to wed. Her frustration doubled, her fear for Tor now tripling after hearing Donnan’s threat about ending her mate’s life and having his head. This was all her fault. Tor could have been so easily killed this day because of her.

Madder at herself than Tor, she stormed along the curve of the bay toward the encampment, the setting sun dropping below the horizon and sending a last flare of red spearing through the darkening sky.

She passed a large group of shirtless warriors battling hard on the grassy shoreline, while near a small island in the middle of the bay, one holding a copse of trees and a wooden shack, a good thirty men swam in then jogged out of the water and swapped out with the battling warriors.

“I’ll catch up with you two later. I’d like to join in with the training before the evening meal.” Tavish left them, headed toward the makeshift corral of beams hammered between the trees, stripped off his shirt and weapons then bounded into the loch.

“Layla, wait up.”

“Leave me be, Tor. I’m in no mood to talk right now.” She brushed him off as she hurried past the central fire and the camp cook in her brown woolen kirtle. The elderly woman stirred stew in a blackened pot bubbling over the sizzling flames. “Which is the ladies’ tent?” she asked the cook. “I would like to rest.”

“’Tis the one right at the end and ’tis all yours if you wish it.” The cook wiped one hand on her apron as she tipped her head in the direction Layla needed to go. “Cherub used it last, but she remains at the castle now.”

“Thank you.” She stalked to the tent near the forest’s edge and past another group of warriors who aimed their arrows at a white ribbon tied around a wide trunk a hundred feet distant. Each warrior stepped forward to take his turn with the bow. With impressive accuracy, arrow after arrow thunked into the thin strip of silk.

“We need to talk, Layla, and it can’t wait.” Tor swept past her, lifted the tent flap and motioned for her to go in. “I won’t permit you to brush me off.”

“I’m too mad right now to talk to anyone. ’Tis best if you allow me some time to calm down.” She ducked inside and paced the tent, from canvas wall to wall, Tor remaining solidly in the center, hands planted on his hips as he eyed her.

“You should never have snuck away from the keep. You made damn certain you would be nearly impossible to find, and that’s totally unacceptable to me.” With a low growl, he shrugged his war coat off and tossed it on top of the wooden crate next to a lamp. “You’re my mate, mine to protect and care for.”

“I snuck away for a very good reason.”

“Explain your reasoning to me.” He struck flint with his dagger and lit the lamp, its flame flickering within the darkening tent and casting its soft glow over the canvas walls.

“To speak to Donnan, to break the betrothal I agreed to. So too I would have had the conversation under control if you had no’ have stormed in.”

“Like hell you would have.” He caught her around the waist as she made her next pass and dragged her up against his heaving chest. “I don’t even want to think about the fact that Donnan could have forced a consummation of your betrothal vows and made you his wife in truth this very day. No one would have gainsaid his decision with the signed agreement in place if he’d done so. I could have lost you, forever.”

“I would never have allowed Donnan to touch me, or to sway me to his way of thinking. I fully intended to explain things to him, to ensure he understood my position and to have him release me from our agreement.”

“You’re my mate, and I would give my life to ensure your protection.”

“Donnan may have repudiated our betrothal, but only under duress. He will return, seek retribution, make his demands known. ’Tis just a matter of time.”

“Let him. Next time I’ll not issue a reprieve as I did this day.” He walked her backward until the backs of her knees hit the corner pile of brown fur pelts and she toppled back onto them. Swiftly, he sank down on top of her, tipped her head to the side and bared her neck. He licked her flesh, right over his mark then looked deep into her eyes. “We need to complete the bond. Once we do, we’ll have a merged link of the mind, one that is inherent in my shifter blood. We’ll be able to speak to each other at will along a pathway known only to us, mind to mind, and that connection will ensure I can always remain in touch with you. Only then will both me and my bear ever be at peace.”

“The last thing I wish for is such a merged link.” A complete lie. She would adore it, not that she was telling him that right now. Mayhap not ever.

“I never want you to leave my side again.” He dipped his head once more, razzed his teeth over the mark, and damn it, she shivered with need.

“Dinnae you dare bite me, Tor Matheson.”

“I won’t apologize for coming to your rescue, and I will be biting you.” His low rumble vibrated against her heaving chest, his gaze imploring. “Say aye, my challenging mate. I need your permission before I do.”

“Nay, and we are in the middle of an argument if you have no’ noticed.”

“You’re so beautiful when you get mad. I haven’t told you that yet, but I should have.” He grinned, actually grinned and she wanted to slap him. Clearly her mate had no self-preservation.

“Release me.” She pushed against his rock hard chest, except he moved not an inch.

“Layla, when you went missing”—his tone gentled, his golden gaze heating as he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers—“I realized something very important, that there isn’t a chance I can ever live without you. I nearly went insane when I couldn’t find you. Let me bite you. You must allow it.”

“You are far too forceful for my liking.”

“And kiss you. You must allow me a kiss as well.” He slid one hand around the back of her head and seized her hip with the other. Rubbing his body against hers, he embedded his deliciously earthly fresh scent into her. “My bear is rampaging inside me. I’ll have to shift soon, and the last thing I want to do is leave you like this, when both of us have been fighting. Grant me a kiss, please.”

She truly shouldn’t allow him to have his way like this, only the need lacing his tone sent that thought flittering from her head. She touched her lips to his, their kiss brief and almost over before it had even begun, but a kiss all the same. “Now leave.”

“Huh.” He snorted under his breath. “I clearly should have stipulated how long that kiss should have been, but still I thank you for it all the same.” He groaned then rolled off her onto his back on the pelts, his gaze on the tented ceiling above. He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again and slowly sat up. He removed his weapons, shucked his boots and hauled his loose-sleeved black tunic over his head before standing in his faded brown rawhide pants. “Turn around if you wish. I need to fully disrobe.”